Pat of Silver Bush Meets Jane of Lantern Hill
by She-Who-Loves-Silence
Summary: Partway through "Mistress Pat", a chance encounter on a train changes the course of Pat's destiny.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own _Pat of Silver Bush_, _Mistress Pat_, or _Jane of Lantern Hill_,   
by L.M. Montgomery; I've just borrowed some of her characters from those   
books for this fanfic.   
  
  


"Here you are, Miss Gardiner." The ticket agent pushed the train ticket over the   
counter towards Pat. 

She thanked him and took the ticket in her gloved hand. Turning away from the   
counter, she started across the room towards the row of seats along the wall.   
Then, changing course abruptly, she left the lamp-lit warmth of the station to sit   
on the bench outside. The early December wind was bitterly cold, but it helped   
numb the dull ache in her jaw, and more importantly, the pain in her soul. Her   
toothache would soon be remedied during her dentist appointment in   
Charlottetown. But she feared she would find no easy cure for her soul-sickness. 

She gazed out bleakly over the desolate landscape. Withered fields, interspersed   
with groves of skeletal hardwoods and dark, brooding evergreens, stretched away   
before her. Heavy slate-coloured clouds pushed down toward the earth like the   
ceiling of a cave. 

If only Rae were here! The two of them would have had a merry time riding in on   
the train and then prowling about the Charlottetown shops after Pat's appointment,   
before catching the evening train home. But Rae had still not forgiven Pat for   
putting an end to her ill-advised flirtation with Lawrence Wheeler, and Pat had not   
dared invite her along. "I'd simply love to come with you, Pat, but I'm just too   
busy," Pat imagined Rae telling her with the artificial cordiality she'd displayed   
toward her since their estrangement. "Besides, don't you think you'd enjoy   
yourself more with someone your own age?" Would the breach between them ever   
heal? wondered Pat hopelessly. 

Then there was the rift between Sid and the entire Gardiner family. Brooding and   
distant toward his kin since being jilted by Dorothy Milton, Sid was caught up in an   
ill-advised flirtation of his own. Pat couldn't nderstand how anything, even being   
twice unlucky in love, could have driven Sid to rekindle his boyhood infatuation   
with May Binnie. Poor doomed Bets Wilcox had been Pat's dearest friend; Pat well   
remembered her own jubilation when Sid had transferred his affections from May to   
Bets. And, in spite of her fickleness, Dorothy was a nice, well-bred girl. But May...   
all _she_ had to recommend her was a certain flashy, overblown beauty. 

Suppose Sid _did_ marry her! Pat shuddered, picturing all too vividly how things   
would be. She and May had always hated each other; how May would triumph   
over her. By gaining May as a sister, she would certainly lose Sid, her favourite   
brother...they could never possibly be friends again. And the newlyweds would   
have to live at Silver Bush until Father could afford to build them a house on the   
other farm. In the meantime, May would make life miserable for her in-laws--   
engaging in embarrassing public displays of affection towards Sid...attempting to   
usurp Mother's and Pat's authority...antagonizing Judy Plum...trying to pick quarrels   
with Pat...poking and prying...cluttering up the house with her tawdry bric-a-bracs   
and suggesting tasteless "improvements"...making scenes and sulking when she   
didn't get her way...shattering the serenity of Silver Bush with her incessant   
clamour. The entire Binnie tribe and all of May's friends would descend on Silver   
Bush...there would never be a moment's peace or privacy...poor Sid would be   
crushed when his infatuation with May wore off and he finally saw her for what she   
was. Oh, the prospect was unendurable! 

Finally Pat's thoughts turned to Hilary Gordon, far away at college in Toronto. She   
missed him dreadfully. Pat had a sudden conviction that, much as she liked David   
Kirk, he was no substitute for Hilary, just as his sister Suzanne, good friend though   
she was, could never wholly replace Bets. But Hilary had not been back to PEI for   
several years--would not be coming home for the holidays, or at any time in the   
foreseeable future. 

The mournful whistle of the approaching train interrupted Pat's thoughts. Once   
aboard, she made for the nearest empty seat. "Is this place taken?" she asked the   
passenger in the adjacent seat. She found herself looking into the warm,   
golden-brown eyes of a girl somewhere in age between herself and Rae. 

"No, you're welcome to sit here," the girl replied. 

Pat sank down gratefully. To her amazement, the girl was gazing out the window at   
the blighted landscape with an expression of the sheerest delight. Noticing Pat's   
surprise, she explained, "This is the first time I've ever seen Prince Edward Island in   
the very late autumn. And I find it beautiful even now." 

Pat instantly warmed towards her, sensing a kindred spirit. "Oh, I _do_ love PEI in all   
seasons. And I agree, even now it's beautiful in an austere, haunting way. But it's   
just difficult to appreciate it while suffering from a toothache." _And heartache,_ she   
added silently. 

The girl looked at her very understandingly, almost as if she were aware of what Pat   
had left unsaid. Indeed, she somehow gave the impression of being able to look   
into one's soul. 

"Well, if it isn't Jane Stuart!" said a pleasant-looking middle-aged man who had   
boarded after Pat. "We all missed you this summer. What brings you to the Island   
now? Not another headlong unscheduled visit, I hope," he said with a twinkle. "I   
don't want to have to nurse you through another bout of life-threatening   
pneumonia!" 

"Don't worry, Dr. Abbott," laughed Pat's seatmate. "I'm not here because of any   
family crisis this time, and I have no intention of falling dangerously ill again and   
ruining my Christmas holidays. We've decided to spend Christmas and New Year's   
at Lantern Hill this year to make up for not coming down last summer. I'm travelling   
on ahead of Mother, Dad, and the children to open the house up and get things   
ready." 

"I take it, then, that you've arranged for a ride from West Trent? If not, Clara and I   
would be happy to give you a lift to the Corners. I'm just returning home myself--   
I've been away at a medical conference in Halifax and a visit to my sister in   
Silverbridge, so I'm behind on all the local news." 

"Punch Garland is meeting me at the station, but thank you all the same." 

After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Jane, Dr. Abbott nodded civilly at   
Pat and continued along the aisle to an empty seat further down the car. When the   
conductor came by a moment later to collect Pat's ticket, he too spoke to the girl   
called Jane in the manner of an old friend. Pat herself thought the girl seemed   
strangely familiar. There was that same sense of instant friendship as she'd felt   
upon meeting Hilary, Bets, David and Suzanne--"we've known each other for   
hundreds of years. I recognized you as soon as I saw you", as Suzanne had said   
when first they met--but quite apart from that, she was sure she had actually seen   
Jane before somewhere. Then it came to her. 

"You're the girl who captured the escaped circus lion!" she exclaimed. "I remember   
seeing your picture in the papers years ago!" 

Jane laughed ruefully. "I never could understand why everyone made such a fuss   
over that. It wasn't the daring exploit it was made out to be--he was really just a   
tame old lion." 

"No matter, _I_ never would have dared to try round him up!" retorted Pat. "I   
remember thinking at the time that you had to be the bravest girl in the world." 

She introduced herself, and without further ado they set to getting acquainted. Pat   
learned that Jane, her parents, and her younger brother and sister spent their   
winters in Toronto, where Jane's father, a writer, was the assistant editor of   
_Saturday Evening_ magazine and Jane attended the University of Toronto, and   
summered at their vacation home on PEI--except for the past summer, when the   
Stuarts had done a swap with friends who owned a cottage on an island in   
Muskoka. The husband was a nature writer and had needed to spend time on PEI   
researching a book. 

"It must have been dreadful for you," said Pat fervently, gazing at the snapshot of   
Lantern Hill that Jane was showing her. Of course no house could compare to   
Silver Bush in her eyes, but the quaint frame house, embowered by gracious trees   
and an old-fashioned garden, possessed something of the charm of the Gardiner   
homestead. Pat knew how much _she'd_ hate having to give up her beloved home,   
even temporarily, and spend an entire summer in a strange new place. She also   
wondered how Jane could bear to live elsewhere for the rest of the year. 

"Dreadful? Not at all!" said Jane. "Oh, I _was_ homesick for Lantern Hill--I've been   
coming here every summer since I was eleven--but Muskoka was just as enchanting   
in its own way. Mrs. Redfern told me she was in tears when they went away from   
their island for the first time--they'd lived there all year round for the first year of   
their marriage. She didn't think any place in the world could be as lovely. Mr.   
Redfern assured her the places they'd be visiting on their trip abroad _were_ just as   
lovely, only in different ways--that there are so many kinds of loveliness in the   
world. And he's right. Lantern Hill is beautiful in a very pastoral way, while   
Muskoka has a rugged, untamed beauty, and our house in Toronto is somewhere   
in between...it's at the outskirts of the city, near Lake Ontario, on the edge of a   
ravine. Then there are all the wonderful places we've seen on our travels..." 

She went on to describe a trip her family had taken to Boston when her father's first   
book was published; stopovers at the Redferns' house outside Montreal, and in   
Montreal itself, on their way to and from the Island; sightseeing expeditions to   
other places in the Maritimes; a train trip out to the Rockies she had taken with her   
aunt, uncle and cousin at the beginning of one summer before joining her family on   
PEI. "And there are still so many places I want to see some day," she said. "I hope   
to visit all the places the Redferns have been--Egypt, Samarcand, Italy, France,   
Spain. My cousin Phyllis and I are thinking of going to Europe next summer." 

As she listened to Jane, Pat was suddenly reminded of how she and Bets had once   
planned to take a trip to Europe. But that was when she had expected Sid to marry   
Bets some day and bring her to live with them at Silver Bush. Then Bets had died,   
and in her grief Pat had grown ever more fiercely attached to Silver Bush, her only   
solace--the one constant in a mercilessly changing world. 

"...if everything were always to stay the same, year after year, now _that_ would be   
dreadful," concluded Jane. "I have a horror of such an existence. I once knew   
someone who tried to keep her home and the person dearest to her from ever   
changing. She didn't succeed, though--they merely stagnated. When her loved   
one finally went away from her, she never forgave her and she never recovered...   
she just withered away, a lonely, embittered old woman in a dreary old house." 

Pat shivered involuntarily. But then she ruthlessly suppressed her sudden unease.   
_Her _love for _her_ home and the people in it wasn't an unhealthy obsession...not in   
the least. There was simply no place in the world like Silver Bush, that was all.   
Why, hadn't Judy Plum cancelled her trip back home to Ireland because she   
couldn't bear to leave Silver Bush? 

"Well," she said a trifle defensively, handing the snapshot back to Jane, "Lantern   
Hill is one place that couldn't possibly be improved on. It's perfect the way it is." 

"Oh, but it _has_ changed since we bought it. The wing at the side is new--we had to   
add it on after my brother and sister were born," responded Jane, leaving Pat feeling   
greatly disconcerted. 

At the next stop, the passengers in the seats opposite Pat and Jane--an elderly   
couple who had dozed through the journey--got off the train. An instant later, Pat   
gasped in shock, for among the oncoming passengers were Sid and May. May,   
vulgar, insolent, in a coat of a violent crimson with large gold buttons and cuffs and   
collar of artificial fox. Her lips painted carmine to match. Her loud teal hat anything   
_but_ matching. She met Pat's eyes boldly, then sashayed right over and sat down   
opposite Pat and Jane. After a moment, Sid defiantly followed suit. 

"Sid, _what_ are you doing here?" demanded Pat in a mortified whisper. "You're   
supposed to be helping Father and Tillytuck slaughter the pigs!" 

"I decided that my poor honey-boy needs a holiday," announced May, making no   
effort to lower _her_ voice, and looping her arm possessively through Sid's. "He   
spends far too much time slaving at Silver Bush. "I've convinced him to run up to   
Charlottetown for the day. We were too late to catch the train at Silverbridge, so   
we hitched a ride to this station, and here we are!" She gave Pat a self-satisfied   
smirk. "Who's your friend?" she continued, eyeing Jane (who was glancing   
perceptively from Sid to May to Pat and back again). 

Pat made the introductions through clenched teeth. 

"So, you're from Toronto?" said May. She proceeded to comport herself in what   
was intended to be a sophisticated manner, in an obvious attempt to impress the   
stylish city girl. 

Pat tried to catch Sid's eye to cast him a disgusted look. To her even greater   
disgust, he was gazing at May with a besotted expression. 

Now May had whipped out a movie magazine and was showing Jane a picture of   
her favourite screen star. 

"Yes, he's good-looking," said Jane politely. "But I don't really care for the matinee   
idol type myself." She started a little, then examined the picture more closely. "Isn't   
that funny..." she murmured. 

"What?" May demanded eagerly. 

"It's just that this actor could almost be the twin brother of a boy who got on the   
train in Montreal," Jane answered. "He was on his way to the Island too. I heard   
him tell his seatmate that his father is a wealthy businessman in Charlottetown. I   
think he's in the next car," she added casually. She studied the picture again.   
"Well, maybe they don't look _exactly_ alike. But the boy I saw was still very   
handsome." 

A strange gleam came into May's eyes; Pat had often seen Bold-and-Bad   
look the same way as he stalked a mouse. She began to shift restlessly in   
her seat, frequently glancing down the aisle towards the door of the next car.   
Finally she leapt to her feet. "I've just remembered that my cousin Emma   
said she was going to Charlottetown today," she blurted. "I'm going to look   
for her." 

"I'll come too," Sid offered. 

"Oh no, that's not necessary," said May hurriedly. "Why don't you just stay here   
and have a nice visit with Pat and Jean. It was nice meeting you, Jean," and with   
that she was gone. 

As the minutes passed, it was Sid's turn to grow restless. At last he stood up. "I   
think I'll just go see what's taking May," he explained, looking a little sheepish. 

Once he had gone, Pat turned to Jane, whose eyes were dancing. "Jane--I mean   
_Jean_" (they both laughed)"--is what what you said about the wealthy   
businessman's handsome son in the next car _true_?" 

Jane nodded. "Actually, that's why I'm in _this_ car. I was seated across the aisle from   
him all the way from Montreal to Sackville. He spent the whole time boasting to his   
seatmate about how wonderful he was, ordering the porters around, and trying to   
flirt with every female in sight. I think he and May are made for each other!" She   
had time for no more, for Sid was stalking back down the aisle towards them--   
without May. 

"She was sitting beside that fellow from Charlottetown, flirting like mad!" he   
choked, flinging himself into his seat. "She frowned when she saw me and then   
acted as if I were invisible!" He glared at Jane. "Why did you have to mention him   
to her?" 

"It's hardly Jane's fault that May decided to chase after this boy," Pat pointed out. 

Sid glared at her, too, and then stared gloomily out the window. After some time,   
he turned to face them again. "I'm sorry," he told Jane. "I shouldn't have spoken to   
you like that." Then he looked at Pat. "I know you've never approved of me   
associating with May. Well, you were obviously right about her all along," he said   
bitterly. 

Underneath all her elation at this turn of events, Pat, perversely enough, found   
herself filled with rage at May for causing Sid such pain. How _dare_ the wretched   
girl throw him over for some playboy! She watched him anxiously. 

"It's all right, Pat," he said, seeing her scrutiny. He laughed cynically. "I'm not   
likely to pine away and die of a broken heart. After all, it's not as if this is a new   
experience for me." 

Jane spoke up then. "You don't have to apologize for speaking the way you did.   
It _was_ presumptuous of me to plant that suggestion in May's mind. I just thought   
it was a shame to see someone as nice as you in the clutches of someone like her,"   
she said frankly. 

"I should thank you for rescuing me before it was too late, then," he replied with a   
half-hearted smile. He looked back over at Pat. "If I get off at the next station and   
take the next train back to Silverbridge, and get a ride with someone from there to   
North Glen, I can still be home in plenty of time to help Father and Tillytuck." 

Pat gazed at him with shining eyes. This was the old Sid, whom she had despaired   
might be lost to them forever, not the reckless stranger of the past months. All at   
once she resolved that the moment she returned home, she would go straight to   
Rae and apologize to her as forthrightly as Jane had done to Sid. She didn't regret   
thwarting Rae's romance--such a match would have been as disastrous as one   
between May and Sid, and she knew that Rae had really only imagined herself to be   
in love with the Reverend Wheeler--but she realized now that she had been   
abominably patronizing towards Rae, treating her like a silly child. She would tell   
her so and ask her forgiveness. 

Jane produced a box of meringues of her own concoction and offered them to Sid   
and Pat. Those meringues were perfection, melting in one's mouth, and Pat ate   
several, dentist appointment or no dentist appointment. It seemed that Jane   
succeeded at everything she turned her hand to, be it cooking or capturing escaped   
circus animals or ending unsuitable attachments. 

The three of them chatted together, but though Sid made an effort to be pleasant, he   
was clearly still in low spirits. 

"Poor Sid," sighed Pat, after he had taken his leave of them at the next stop. "Oh, I   
can never thank you enough for opening his eyes about May! It was a nightmare   
the way he kept dangling around her. But do you suppose anything will come of   
her pursuit of this new boy? It seems incredible that a rich man's son who could   
have his pick of wealthy society girls would seriously consider taking up with   
someone like her. You've seen how low-bred she is. And her whole family is the   
same way. They have no breeding--no background." 

Jane shrugged. "For all his father's fortune, he's every bit as crass and shallow as   
May. They really are true soulmates...insofar as either of them have souls. His   
family probably won't approve, but he's obviously used to having his own way.   
And May is nothing if not determined. She's also the type that draws men like a   
magnet." 

"Don't I know," shuddered Pat. "She'd always meant to get Sid. And he was   
completely under her spell." Then she laughed a little giddily. "May's mother likes   
to say that her girls aren't 'soulless sassiety women'. Won't she be surprised if May   
and this young man _do_ make a match of it? But then she'll doubtless put on airs   
about her daughter 'the wealthy Charlottetown stalactite'--she has the worst trick of   
malapropisms you ever heard--" 

"--I don't know about that," murmured Jane. "You haven't heard my friend Mrs.   
Meade." 

"--and her daughter's father-in-law 'the business typhoon' and her son-in-law 'the ire   
to a fortune,'" Pat mimicked. She sank back in her seat, feeling almost dizzy with   
relief, and fought an urge to dissolve into hysterical laughter. "You've spared Sid   
from a terrible fate! You've spared my _entire family_ from an terrible fate!" 

Jane smiled sympathetically. _I know just how you feel,_ she thought. _I felt exactly_   
_the same way when Dad told me there was no truth to Aunt Irene's insinuations_   
_that he meant to divorce Mother and marry Lilian Morrow. _"Glad to be of   
service," she said. "Like I said, I hated to see Sid throwing himself away on May.   
They were so obviously ill-suited. It really would have been the worst thing in the   
world for him if he _had_ wound up marrying her--he would have spent the rest of his   
life regretting his mistake. But now, even if nothing comes of this new flirtation of   
hers and she tries to get Sid back, he should be immune to her wiles." 

As the train drew near to Jane's stop, she and Pat exchanged telephone numbers   
and agreed to visit back and forth over the holidays. "And you'll have to visit us in   
Toronto," said Jane. "We're always happy to have visitors from the Island." 

Only a short time before, Pat would have balked at the thought of travelling   
hundreds of miles away from Silver Bush, but now she felt oddly receptive to the   
idea. In fact, a strange restlessness had taken possession of her. For the first time   
in her life she began to think that it might be possible to be happy away from Silver   
Bush--that she could come to love other places with the same devotion. For she   
admitted to herself with a sudden pang that Silver Bush would not stay the same   
forever...the changes she so dreaded would inevitably come about. Rae would   
eventually marry and move away...Sid would also get married, to a woman of whom   
she could no doubt approve, but who would someday reign as chatelaine of Silver   
Bush. Her old dream of living out her days at Silver Bush and keeping house for   
Sid died then and there. She knew she would always have a place in his household,   
but did she really want to impose on her brother, sister-in-law, and their family? No,   
she would much rather have a home of her own...although, of course, Silver Bush   
would always hold a special place in her heart. 

She remembered Hilary's long-ago promise to build a wonderful house for her one   
day. And what had he said to her on the eve of his departure for Toronto? His   
words came rushing back to her--"Wherever _you_ are, Pat, will always be home to   
me." But when he had asked if they could be more than friends, her love for Silver   
Bush--her misguided love, she saw now--had risen up between them like a barrier,   
and she had denied her true feelings for him. And when he had repeated his   
question in a letter a few years later, she had again denied him. How foolish she   
had been! How could she not have seen the truth of his words...that, as the old   
saying went, "home is where the heart is"? 

_Well, I've finally come to my senses now, _she thought joyfully to herself. When she   
visited Jane in Toronto, she would seek Hilary out. "I've come to tell you that we   
_can_ be more than chums after all," she would say to him. "And to remind you of   
your promise to build me my dream house." 

She emerged from her reverie and smiled at Jane. "Thank you! I'd love to visit you   
in Toronto," she said warmly. As she spoke she recollected another invitation, that   
of her distant cousin Lady Medchester, extended during the countess' visit three   
years before, for Pat to look her up if ever she was in England. Pat had the   
agreeable feeling that she and Hilary would take up Lady Medchester's invitation   
sometime in the not-too-distant future. 

As the train pulled away from the little siding of West Trent, where Jane and Dr.   
Abbott were the only passengers to disembark, the first snow of the season began   
to fall. Pat watched with delight as the large, lacy flakes swirled down thickly,   
transfiguring the dreary landscape as if by magic. 

Meanwhile, as Jane drove away from West Trent with Punch Garland, she was   
thinking to herself, _I wonder how Sid Gardiner and Jody Turner would suit each_   
_other? I believe they'd get along really well. I must arrange for them to meet_   
_during the holidays..._   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

_Extract from letter written by Mrs. Jacob Forsyth, _née _Binnie, to Mrs. Nels Royce,_   
née _Binnie_

"This is the life, Trix. To think that I almost settled for being a farmer's wife! Jake   
has bought me a pearl necklace with a diamond pendant the size of a 50-cent piece   
and a mink coat that cost $2000. I'll have to drive out--I mean, have the chauffeur   
drive me out--to North Glen in our new sedan so I can show them off. I can't wait to   
see Pat Gardiner's face when she sees them...though I suppose she won't be Pat   
_Gardiner_ for too much longer. Isn't it ridiculous the way she ran off to Toronto   
after Hilary Gordon to warm up the cold soup with him? Some girls just have no   
sense of shame. But I guess she must have finally realized that she wasn't going to   
have any luck with any of the fellows around North Glen, except maybe that   
middle-aged widower David Kirk. 

I do feel sorry for poor Sid, though. He must have taken my marriage badly. What   
else can explain him taking up with some orphaned nobody who was actually a   
scullery maid in a boarding house before friends of that Jane Stuart adopted her?   
Of course, Pat and Rae and even Sid always _have_ made a habit of sitting around the   
kitchen in the evenings with their hired help. If Jake hadn't come along and swept   
me off my feet and I _had_ married Sid, you can be sure I would have kept Judy Plum   
and Josiah Tillytuck in their place. 

But I hear that Judy will actually travel as far as Ireland with Pat and Hilary on their   
honeymoon to Britain. I honestly have a hard time believing that the Gardiners   
really are related to the English aristocracy. I don't fancy that distant   
cousin-by-marriage of theirs, Lady Munster or whatever her name is, will be any   
too pleased when Pat and Hilary turn up on her doorstep. 

I forgot to mention this to you before, but the most annoying thing happened when   
Jake and I were in New York on _our _honeymoon. Jake decided to commission Allan   
Tierney--_the_ Allan Tierney--to paint my portrait, but Tierney refused! The old crank   
must be losing his eyesight. After all, he painted Mrs. Bernard Redfern--you know,   
the daughter-in-law of the patent medicine king Doc Redfern. Jake pointed her out   
to me when we were at the theatre in Montreal, and she's the most   
insignificant-looking little thing imaginable. So much for Tierney's reputation as a   
painter of beautiful women. 

Speaking of insignificant-looking little things, don't you agree that Sid's new girl,   
this Jody Turner person, hasn't got the slightest touch of distinction? Oh, I   
suppose she's rather pretty in a pale, quiet way, but she can't hold a candle to _me._

What's worse, someone from her background is bound to have all sorts of   
undesirable traits. It was probably the thought of her precious Silver Bush being   
polluted with such riff-raff that caused Pat to throw herself at Hilary. The place will   
likely go to the dogs with that Turner chit living there. It wouldn't surprise me one   
bit if she were to burn the house down through her carelessness. Mark my words,   
Pat will live to regret not getting me for a sister-in-law--though she'll be too proud   
to ever admit it, of course." 

  
_The End_   
  


**A/N: **This bit of wishful thinking was inspired by "Romancing the Home", the   
chapter on _Pat of Silver Bush, Mistress Pat, _and _Jane of Lantern Hill_ in _The_   
_Fragrance of Sweetgrass: L.M. Montgomery's Heroines and the Pursuit of_   
_Romance._ Epperly contrasts Pat's obsessive love of Silver Bush and her hatred of   
change with Jane's adaptability (observing at one point that Jane's "Grandmother   
Kennedy is a bit like an old and unregenerate Pat Gardiner"). This got me thinking,   
what if Pat and Jane were to meet? Would "Superior Jane" be able to work her magic   
on Pat and engineer a happily-ever-after fairytale ending for her (yrs. truly is the   
proverbial incurable romantic and sucker for a happy ending), sparing her from the   
prolonged wait she endured until her bittersweet reunion with Hilary? 

You're probably wondering why Pat didn't just drive in to Charlottetown for her   
appointment, since the Gardiners owned a car. Well, for the purposes of this story   
I've had to operate under the assumption that their car had broken down that day.   
I've also had to overlook the fact that Pat dismissed reports of Sid's renewed   
interest in May as idle gossip. 


End file.
